It is a double mystery that Corsican-born tenor César Vezzani
should first never have sung in any major opera house and secondly
still remain comparatively unknown, even amongst those who consider
themselves cognoscenti, especially when you consider that his
voice type has always been extraordinarily rare. I refer to
the “ténor fort” the French equivalent of the “spinto tenore”
typified by Italian singers such as Franco Corelli. This voice
category was never plentiful but there was a whole slew of French-singing
tenors of this type active in the first half of the twentieth
century, including Russian-born Joseph Rogatchewsky and no fewer
than three Corsicans, José Luccioni, Gaston Micheletti and Vezzani
himself; perhaps the last was Canadian Raoul Jobin. Today, such
voices are virtually extinct. The closest equivalent to Vezzani
in his day was his great near-contemporary Georges Thill, a
lyric-dramatic tenor whose repertoire of “demi-caractère” roles
overlapped with Vezzani’s. Their voices shared similar characteristics,
being vibrant, clear and masculine, with superb top notes and
crystalline diction. Thill had an international career and his
fame overshadowed that of Vezzani, his elder by nine years.
He also lived far longer, until 1984, yet he had already retired
by 1956, whereas Vezzani was still singing as principal tenor
in Toulon up until 1948 when a stroke finished his career. Fortunately
he was much sought after by Pathé, Odeon and HMV and recorded
prolifically, including a complete “Faust” in 1930.

Both singers had their critics; some called into question the
integrity of Thill’s top notes, despite the fact that in addition
to taking on Wagner, he continued undaunted to undertake roles
with a high tessitura; in Vezzani’s case it was his supposed
lack of subtlety and variation that drew adverse comment. Comparing
their respective accounts of “J’aurais sur ma poitrine”, there
seems to me to be no basis for either accusation; both singers
acquit themselves admirably. Vezzani’s quick vibrato, clear
enunciation, steadiness of tonal of emission and the clarion
penetration of his high Bs and Cs are all highly attractive
features of his singing, even if prolonged and unrelieved exposure
to these virtues over the generous eighty minutes of this recital
can prove a little wearing. That possibility is somewhat offset
by the brevity of most of the tracks here; only three extend
beyond four minutes. The disc opens with four famous arias from
Meyerbeer operas. I am one of those resistant to claims for
Meyerbeer’s genius but Vezzani makes as convincing a case as
possible for these showpieces; this is music which responds
to a “give-it-all-you’ve-got” attack. I particularly like the
way Vezzani utterly refuses to indulge in anything close to
a slide in his approach to high notes; he simply nails ’em,
over and over again. Everything here is in French - I don’t
think he sang in other languages – and he never abandoned the
lyric French roles despite his ability to tackle Lohengrin,
Siegmund and Siegfried, hence we hear a 1924 recording of Rossini’s
“Asile héréditaire” with an easy, thrilling top C. You can hear
the Wagnerian quality in his stentorian delivery of Samson’s
exhortations to the Israelites in tracks 7 and 8. For delicacy,
go to the Massenet arias. Here he tames the natural robustness
of his vocal production and sings in a lovely mezza voce, producing
a delightful, soft, sustained falsetto A in “il y faut encore
Manon” and his legato in “Ah! fuyez” is the dream it should
be when a tenor tells us "Je viens de faire un rêve”. Hearing
Verdi in French is interesting, especially in so demanding a
role as Otello. The French version of “Ora per sempre addio”
(“Tout m’abandonne, adieu”) really is taken at too plodding
a tempo but Vezzani’s attack and intensity are compelling. He
then passes the “A flat test” in “Dieu, tu pouvais m’infliger”,
rising nobly to its climax. His “Desdemona, morte, morte!” is
heart-rending; hearing him sing that live must have been thrilling.
We are also treated to two dead-centre-no-slide-up top Cs in
the aria from “Jérusalem” (which was in French, being a revision
and adaptation of “I Lombardi” for Paris). I could go on, but
everything here is sung with dedication and artistry that I
urge every lover of great tenor singing to buy this disc.

The sound is what we have become accustomed to and expect from
Nimbus; I like what they do, as the generous ambience and reduction
of hiss really do permit the voice to emerge as cleanly and
realistically as we could hope given that the sources here are
venerable acoustic matrices made just before the introduction
of electrical recording.

One niggle: Nimbus needs to find a better proof-reader in French;
the titles of the arias in the notes and track-listings are
riddled with duplicated errors. If anyone cares, the details
above are correct.

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